


Sometimes Charlotte

by velvetcadence



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Acceptance, Fluff, Genderqueer Charles, Introspection, M/M, Self-Acceptance, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles comes out as genderfluid in Erik's turtleneck and a pair of pretty little knee high socks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Charlotte

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Sexavierr](http://charlesexavier.co.vu/) who prompted: "imagine gender fluid charles wearing knee high socks and one of erik's turtlenecks and shyly coming out to him and all erik can do is hold him, look him dead in the eye, and tell him that charles is 'perfection'."

It was difficult, at first, to reconcile that Charles would want to be anything other than what he was. Erik found him arrogant, insufferable and entirely desirable, with his strong shoulders and sturdy build. He was a man's man: worldly, educated, class oozing from his very pores and the way he smelled, expensive aftershave that lingered on Erik's clothes even hours after a casual touch. He was careless with his hands around Erik, the way one would be with a close friend, _yes, quite right, old buddy, old chap,_ and yet—

And yet.

There was a heat in it Erik wouldn't expect from a platonic touch. Charles had an angel's face and the devil's smile, and it wasn't long before Erik was looking back, thinking, _my god, that's a first_. It had always been women who pulled and played, who draped their hands over his thigh, who stretched their arms sinuously over a chessboard and fell back into the armchair and bared their necks. Charles was...dangerous, a dichotomy of strong authority out of the bedroom and a sensual, languid creature in it, pliant as you please, sir, please be gentle.

It colored the everyday, and even the mundane took a shine whenever Erik started to take note of Charles' queerness. They all took turns cooking and cleaning, but it was Charles who organized the—well, the family, as it were, Charles who made sure everything was in its proper place and kept the peace between the kids. He had a predilection for mothering them when Erik would rather push them off satellite dishes. It was Charles who gave the soft, encouraging talks, Charles who treated injuries with an expert hand. He was the one who coaxed long-forgotten memories from Erik's mind, weeping with him as if tears were a strength and not a weakness.

There was something so _whole_ about Charles, so perfect and complete and self-assured that made his rare submission all the more enchanting. Erik enjoyed it equally when Charles fucked him, caged him in his strong arms and rubbed his stubble over the skin of Erik's shoulder blades.

He was just pressing at the stubble burn on his neck and wondering which Charles he'd get tonight when the bathroom door clicked open, and Charles stepped out in nothing but Erik's turtleneck and a pair of pretty blue knee high socks, the kind schoolgirls wore. There was rouge on his lips and a cosmetic thickness to his eyelashes that made his face more doll-like than it already was. It was beautiful. It was jarring. Erik wondered what caused the change.

"I thought it unfair to you to keep this a secret any longer, but I...I've always been like this," Charles confessed, his voice quiet. "When I was small, I liked playing with dolls as well as toy cars. Mother didn't like it."

Their minds brushed. It was absurd to think that Charles could ever be afraid of Erik, but that was what Erik could read off of his body language. It was different now, too, curved inward, as if to make himself small. It was a stance Erik saw mostly in women.

"I'm strange, I know," Charles said, "Sometimes I feel like I'm Charles, and sometimes I feel like I'm Charlotte, and I've tried to live as one without the other but it won't do for me. I've been strange all my life and I don't think I could be any other way."

He was so strong, Erik thought. The core of him remained like the purest of steel, wrapped as it was in silk. With a start, Erik realized that the socks hugged his calves becomingly.

"Are you Charlotte now?"

Charles nodded, eyes bright. Erik walked up to him—to her, and admired the way the turtleneck hung off the lengths of her arms and swallowed her hands. He took one and kissed the back of it, hearing her gasp softly as he kneeled down in front of her. He held her to him, kissed her stomach, let his hands caress soft, freshly-shaven thighs. She lost some of her trepidation at his docility, reaching out to touch his hair.

It was then that Erik understood that it wasn't a matter of want. Charles wasn't any less of a man's man if he was sometimes Charlotte. He was _more_.

Erik took a deep breath of the perfume rising from her skin, faint but distinguishable, resting his chin on Charlotte's abdomen to look her in the eye, winding his arms around her waist. Then he said, with whole-hearted sincerity, "You are perfection."

Charlotte laughed with relief that night, and she had never looked more beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> [velvetcadence.tumblr.com](http://velvetcadence.tumblr.com)


End file.
